


The Girl From Naboo

by fatale_distraction



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Inappropriate Use of the Force, Plot, Porn With Plot, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-25
Updated: 2016-03-29
Packaged: 2018-05-28 22:13:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6347653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fatale_distraction/pseuds/fatale_distraction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Buried far beneath the lake of Theed Palace, a new queen discovers a journal that details the last days of Naboo's most venerated hero, Padme Amidala. Leia Organa, general of the Resistance has been searching for it for years, hoping it contains something that can be used to help turn her son from the Dark Side. Before the new queen can hand the journal off to Leia, Kylo Ren appears, hoping to take the artifact for himself, aware only that his estranged mother needs it badly. The Queen of Naboo must keep the Knight of Ren from wresting the journal away from her, while protecting herself and her people from his wrath.<br/>~Eventual Smut~<br/>Originally written as a KyloxReader fic, but the second person pov got tedious, so I slapped a name and general description on the character. Please feel free to read it as if the character were yourself, because that was the original intention. :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ~Originally written in second person as KyloxReader, so please please please feel free to read it that way!~ :)

Light and sound alike bounced off the craggy stone walls as a small figure in soft brown leathers and a sturdy helmet made her way carefully deeper into the subterranean cave. The air was stale, cold, and reeked of degrading plant life. Judging by the moisture dripping from the stalactites, the young woman deduced that her path had led her somewhere far beneath the Capital’s lake. The manmade tunnels had probably been used as an escape route for planetary nobility, but according to the ancient palace records, a cave in had shut them off almost one thousand years ago. According to the holo map displayed by your minicomm, however, someone had reopened the tunnels within the last fifty standard years or so. Possibly the same someone who had left behind a priceless treasure, which, if General Organa was correct (and she always was, or else), could help turn the unrelenting tide of the First Order’s advantage, at least long enough to give Luke Skywalker, who was apparently not dead, the time he needed to form a plan of attack.  
Checking the holo again, in the dim bluish light given off by her plasma light, the girl made a quick right turn, heavy boots crushing brittle purple lichen to dust with a faint crunch. The tunnel ended abruptly before a wall of fallen boulders the size of a herd of nerfs, encrusted with lichen and a thick blanket of dark green moss that signified they had lain there for centuries. According to the map, her destination was directly on the other side of the seemingly impenetrable wall. Casting her light around, the young woman finally spotted a small hole in the bottom right corner where someone had apparently pulled away a few of the smaller stones. The explorer dropped to her knees and shone her light through the little opening. It appeared to pass all the way through the wall, but was only big enough for a child, or a particularly small adult. Laying flat on her belly, she was luckily small enough to just squeeze through, the tightly woven fabric of her blouse catching on small, sharp outcroppings.  
She entered into a cramped, unremarkable cavern. Disappointed, she once again double-checked the map. She had been expecting a grand antechamber, hung with ancient draperies and rusted metal displays containing some kind of long forgotten legendary super weapon that would allow the Resistance to stop the First Order in their tracks, or a dusty cracked tome of ancient Jedi knowledge that could be used to train those who General Organa suspected to be Force-sensitive. With a frustrated sigh, she followed the holo’s signal to a boring stone alcove carved into the far back wall. A plain wooden box sat there, clasps rusted away to red dust. The girl gingerly opened the lid and removed the contents with reverent care.  
The big advantage Leia had hoped for turned out to be an old, plain-looking leather-bound book with real paper pages, and a small crumpled note stuck to the front. Books were certainly a rarity these days, but nothing the First Order couldn’t get their hands on if they wanted, and definitely not a resource that could turn the favor of a war. Gloved gingers gently unfolded the note, which was crumbling away at the edges. Perhaps it was a book of Jedi secrets, she thought. Amethyst eyes scanned the page eagerly.  
‘Maz,  
You know what to do with this one.  
\- K’  
Heart thumping loudly in her chest, the young explorer stowed the note away in an inner pocket of her jacket and cracked the mysterious book open to the cover page. It was stamped with a very familiar seal, the same one that awaited her back in her office, and signed in a small, simple, but elegant hand.  
‘Private Accounts of Padmé Amidala – Former Queen of Naboo & Galactic Senator’  
She clutched the book to her pounding chest. Tears stung her violet eyes and threatened to fall as she cradled the journal of her people’s hero to her chest. She couldn’t fathom what General Organa’s plan for the contents of this book were, but it hardly mattered. Regardless of its importance to the Resistance, she was now in possession of a national treasure, possibly containing the long rumored details of the great Queen’s last days, a mystery shrouded for generations.  
Wiping her eyes with the back of her glove, leaving another long smear of dirt across her face, she turned, carefully stowing the journal inside her vest, and shimmied back into the main tunnel, racing back the way she came. Breathless, she tapped a few buttons on her communicator, preparing to record and encrypt a message to send off to the general.  
“This is Queen Cressida Amaranthe of Naboo; the package has been retrieved and I am en route back to Theed.” She couldn’t suppress an excited grin as she flew through the soggy tunnels, eager to study the contents of Amidala’s journal back at the palace.

 

The sun was setting red and gold over the shimmering lake of Theed’s palace when a black, non-descript shuttle entered the atmosphere of Naboo and descended into the capital’s spaceport. It was a single-pilot craft with room for one or two passengers only. Once it docked, its only life form exited, a young man with long, unruly dark hair and a hard, icy expression on his pale face, part of which was covered in crisp white bandages, from the left side of his forehead across the bridge of a prominent nose, then all the way down the right cheek and below his high collar. He wore a simple long sleeved black tunic and a leather vest cinched with a plain brown belt, black trousers and heavy-soled boots made of a soft, crushed brown hide. A plain, coarseweave brown cloak covered his broad shoulders.  
He marched purposefully down the docking ramp and out onto the darkening streets, still bustling with people even as the sun dipped below the horizon. Stained glass lamps hung outside of businesses, casting a rainbow of colors along the permacrete walkways. In the crowd, no one spared the man a second glance as he turned his attention toward the palace with singled-minded intensity, a crudely designed lightsaber bumping against his hip with each heavy step.

 

A handmaiden in a silky blue robe poured another jug of steaming water into the Queen’s bath. Flower petals and fragrant herbs swirled around her body, flushed from the heat, as another maiden combed out her long, dark hair and began to braid it. Absently, she thanked the woman who had refreshed the water, her attention focused raptly on the holo reader in her hands.  
As soon as she had arrived back at the palace, Cressida had ordered holo-scans to be made of the entire journal, locking it and the scanner safely away in a concealed cabinet within her own quarters until General Organa could come see it for herself. Only then had she allowed her companions to bully her out of her torn, filthy clothes and into the steaming hot bath to scrub away the dirt and grime of her underground excursion.  
Queen Amidala’s journal was absolutely riveting, her exploits recounted in vibrant, humble detail, depicted with a prose that was intelligent and descriptive, without the flowery, aggrandizing language one might expect from royalty. Still, as fascinating as it was, Cressida still could not understand why it was so important to the Resistance. It hardly mattered, though, since she was already so enraptured by the scathing political commentary and the apparent affair between Amidala and a much younger Jedi apprentice (you crafty, lucky little cougar, Cressida thought to herself with glee). Though, the current queen was well aware of how the relationship must end, with the extermination of the Jedi at the climax of the Clone Wars, she still fervently hoped that he somehow managed to escape the genocide of his own people and live in secret with Senator Amidala.  
“My lady,” another handmaiden poked her head into the bathroom shyly. “I know you asked not to be disturbed, but…” she hesitated, chewing her bottom lip nervously. Letal was one of the younger maidens, selected for her intelligence and similarity in tiny stature and facial features rather than for bravery. “You have a visitor…he is most persistent.”  
“She means he’s obnoxious, demanding, and extremely rude,” a fourth girl appeared with an irate look on her face. “And he will not leave.” Arianne was taller than any of the others, including the Queen. She had a round, pretty face with dark copper-colored hair and flashing green eyes, but she had an imposing posture about her. She didn’t look much like Cressida, and she didn’t have to. She had been chosen as a handmaiden not for her ability to be a body double, but for her flawless marksmanship, brutal fighting skills, and lashing tongue. She was also the Queen’s closest friend. “Shall I have him disposed of?” she suggested, a little too eagerly.  
Cressida sighed heavily, hanging her holo reader off to Letal while the other girls pinned her long hair into a quick but respectable chignon and held out a robe for her to step into as she rose from the bath. “Tell our overly enthusiastic guest that I will be with him shortly,” she directed with a pointed look at Arianne. She spun on her heel, dragging Letal with her. The Queen could hear her friend storming down the hall, shouting to the palace guards, instructing them to seat the guest in the parlor and inform him that ‘Queen Amaranthe will see to him when she is no longer naked.’ She hoped fervently that the guards would be smart enough not to take Arianne literally. 

They were not, if the man’s flushed cheeks were anything to go by when Amaranthe swept into her receiving parlor flanked by her handmaidens. She had been quickly laced into a dark, shimmering blue dress like the night sky, with a long, diaphanous chersilk overlay sewn with miniscule, iridescent beads. The skirt was wide and billowed behind her, pulling against her legs as she walked. The neckline was modest, falling in a straight line across her collar bone, and the flowing sleeves were cinched at the shoulder, laced around her upper arms with silver cerlin ribbon. The outfit was accented by a long silver necklace with a tasseled charm that hung to her hips., and a simple metal grille headdress pinned tightly to her scalp from which the braided chignon bloomed like a flower. Light powder dusted her face instead of the traditional heavy white paint, though she retained the Scar of Remembrance and twin beauty marks.  
Her visitor, slumped uncomfortably in a plush armchair, took in her appearance with grudging appreciation. Beneath the fading blush, his expression was dour and pale, dark eyes like black holes set deep in a somber face. He was dressed simply, but held himself with a sense of import, if not confidence, only slightly marred by the slouch of his shoulders, as though he felt too tall for himself. The queen couldn’t recall ever having seen him before; she certainly would have remembered such a uniquely handsome face, with high cheek bones, pointed chin, and an aquiline nose he was practically a sculpture, with soulful, expressive eyes black as night against pale marble flesh, sprinkled with freckles and beauty marks, a severe brow, and long, silky curls that were just begging to have fingers run through them. Even the bandage strapped across his face couldn’t hide his impossibly good looks.  
Amaranthe kept her expression carefully formal and unmoving. “Welcome,” she began in a deep, clipped voice, falling easily into the accent of Naboo aristocracy. “I am Queen Amaranthe. I’m told you have some urgent business with me.” The man’s sharp eyes darted to the door behind her, where Arianne stood innocently, smoldering angrily at her. The queen couldn’t resist teasing, only just barely concealing her amusement. “I hope it is important enough to warrant disrupting my bathing.” The jab snapped his attention back to the queen, the crimson blush resurfacing. Letal and another of the younger girls giggled quietly, shushed gleefully by Arianne. Amaranthe allowed an indulgently amused smile, biting her bottom lip against a laugh at the stranger’s furiously embarrassed expression.  
“It is,” he snapped abruptly, fingers digging into the velvet cushions, softening the outburst with an awkward ‘my lady’, as a belatedly remembered courtesy.  
The queen dismissed the younger maidens with a wave of her hand, leaving only Arianne to guard the door as she took a seat on a comfortable red couch, motioning her guest to the seat across from her. He ignored the offer to move, instead leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “Tell me what brings you here at this late hour,” requested Amaranthe.  
The man hesitated, tapping his fingers together. “The General…received your transmission,” he began haltingly enunciating his words sharply, as if remembering a rehearsed speech, a feeling the queen understood well. “I have been sent to…collect the parcel.”  
Amaranthe raised her eyebrows in surprise. “That was certainly fast. I only sent off the message this afternoon, and I’ve had no response from General Leia yet.”  
“I was in the area,” he insisted through impatient, gritted teeth. At the mention of the General’s name, a tremor passed imperceptibly through him. A faint ringing started in his ears, but he ignored it. “The General is very eager to have the package…delivered safely.”  
The young queen regarded him with an imperious look, bristling with suspicion. Something prodded at her mind like prying fingers, but she pushed the feeling away firmly. Arianne’s hand subtly went to her hip, where a heavy blaster was concealed beneath her voluminous black skirts. “I was under the impression that she would want to retrieve it herself.”  
He breathed out heavily through his nose. “She is a busy woman. I’m sure you can appreciate that,” he replied with clipped patience.  
Tilting her head, Amaranthe considered her guest carefully for a long moment. The feeling in her head grew stronger, pushing her to give the journal over to the stranger. She rejected the idea, shoving it away fiercely. Then she gave a small, charming smile and nodded graciously. Arianne dropped her hand back to her side. “Very well…I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name?”  
The man hesitated again, appearing to struggle for words, before mumbling, “M…Matt. Matt is fine.”  
“Matt…” the queen smiled kindly. “I will need time to prepare the parcel for General Organa. It is a delicate item, and must be properly documented and protected before it will be ready to risk travel.” Matt’s eyes narrowed with sharp suspicion. “Of course, you must stay here in the palace while you wait. It could be a few days before the scan is complete. We must be thorough,” she reminded him. “Arianne will have a room prepared for you…and I do hope you will join me for breakfast tomorrow.”  
Arianne moved forward at a signal from her queen, and Matt nodded, standing abruptly, before apparently remembering his manners and giving a brief bow to Amaranthe. She smiled after him as he departed, thinking how very interesting the next few days would be.

“He’s not very smart, is he?” Arianne stated bluntly as she entered Cressida’s quarters, where she was hailing a Resistance frequency on her personal communications terminal, cleverly concealed within her vanity.  
“Oh, I’m sure he’s intelligent enough,” she replied with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Just a little oblivious…”  
“His confidence blinds him,” added Letal wisely, sitting on the edge of the bed with her legs tucked under her.  
The comm terminal pinged, and Cressida brought up a heavily protected channel to accept the incoming transmission. Leia’s concerned face, touched by years of stress, appeared reflected in the vanity mirror, blurred by static. “Sidi, I received your earlier transmission,” the older woman jumped straight to business as always. At this point neither of you saw much point in abiding by formalities, and Leia had gotten quite used to the nickname given to Cressida fondly by her friends. “Has something gone wrong?”  
“No, the package is safe for now,” the young queen assured her. “In fact, it’s fascinating. The information is being scanned and recorded on a secure server as we speak. It should be completed within a few days, but you should be able to access what’s been recorded so far.”  
“Good,” Leia sighed in relief.  
“My only concern is that my long-range transmitter may not have been as well-encrypted as we thought.” The General’s eyes narrowed at this. “You haven’t sent out a recovery team yet, by any chance?”  
She shook her head. “We haven’t had the time or the resources to spare, and I mean to come myself when I’m able. Why?”  
Cressida took a deep breath. “I believe my message was intercepted by someone lurking nearby in our system,” she confided quietly. “There’s a young man here claiming to be with the Resistance, but he has no uniform, no ranking, and…Arianne, how would you describe him?”  
“Obliviously stupid, your highness.”  
“Painfully awkward and scary beyond all reason,” offered Letal.  
Confusion and worry lined Leia’s already weary face. She had aged significantly in a very short time, very likely from mourning her late husband, but she was still heartbreakingly lovely. “Do you think he could be part of the First Order?” she whispered as if afraid of the answer.  
Sidi nodded. “That was my first thought.”  
“Can you tell me anything else about him? What kind of ship did he come in on? What does he look like?”  
With the help of her handmaidens, Cressida gave a brief but thorough description of his height and build, giving perhaps a bit too much personal detail about his dark, luscious hair. “He also had a large bandage across his face,” she finished.  
The general’s expression became desperately serious. “A bandage?” she demanded intensely.  
“Yes,” the younger woman nodded warily. “Diagonally down his face, probably a fairly recent injury, unless he’s been neglecting bacta treatments.”  
A weathered hand fluttered to Leia’s forehead. “Listen to me,” she commanded, a terse urgency to her voice, “VERY carefully. That man is more dangerous than you could possibly know.” Her voice was raw with emotion and tears glistened in her dark, expressive eyes. “You must find a way to get him off planet. Your very life might be in danger. If he wants that artifact badly enough, he will not hesitate to kill you for it.”  
Letal gasped and toppled off the bed. Arianne dug her nails into her palms, shaking furiously. A chill ran down Cressida’s spine, but curiosity had outweighed her sense of self-preservation since she was a child. “How do you know this?” she demanded. “Who is this man, Leia?”  
The woman took a deep, shuddering breath. “I know this, because he is the one who killed my Han,” she stated plainly, voice cracking. “I know this, because he is my son.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kylo's first night in Theed is plagued with strange, haunting noises; the queen makes a decision Arianne thinks is stupid; an exceedingly awkward breakfast; and a cocky pilot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter two is a little short, since I didn't have as much time as I would have liked today.   
> Mostly plot progression in this chapter, but fun things are coming next time!!

Kylo Ren paced the richly appointed guest quarters restless with anger. The walls were hung with red and gold draperies, long velvet curtains were drawn against the cold autumn night, and lush woven flexcarpets warmed the chilly marble floors. There was a tall fireplace carved of some kind of dark, grainy synthwood, an abundance of cushioned armchairs and a large sofa, and a matching four-poster bed covered in thick quilts and accented with gauzy chersilk drapes. All this extravagance made him ridiculously uncomfortable. The bed was too soft, the room too warm, and the clouded glass lighting fixtures too dimly golden.

               Over the last few standard day cycles, he had intercepted some unusual transmissions from the Resistance. The general was after some kind of artifact here on Naboo, and desperate enough to recruit the local nobility in order to get it. Kylo had determined that whatever it was, he must get his hands on it before General Organa did. Unfortunately, the latest interception, a confirmation that the object had been acquired, hadn’t contained even the slightest clue as to where it had been hidden, or even what it was. The knight of Ren spun on his heel as he reached one end of the room, shaking out his arms, unable to sit still for all the pent up energy coursing through him. Somehow, he needed to find a way to get to the artifact before the Resistance arrived. It wouldn’t be long, if they still foolishly kept their base of operations on D’qar.

               Something else bothered him, too, as he stormed around the room. He had fully expected to be able to walk into the palace, and manipulate the queen into handing the artifact straight over. It shouldn’t have been too difficult, though gentle influence wasn’t his strong suit when it came to the Force. Yet, this Amaranthe had willfully resisted him, not once, but several times. Whether she realized what she had done or not, she had pushed him aside as if she were waving away an irritating bug. Though she probably had no idea, it was clear to Kylo that she had a particular sensitivity to the Force. Such strong resistance may not have been a surprise to find in a politician a hundred years ago before the fall of the Jedi, but now…

               Now, new plans would have to be made.

Kylo did eventually retire for the night. The silky sheets and down pillows of the bed, while excessive and unusually soft, were tantalizing for the exhausted traveler. But strangely, every time he closed his eyes, that same ringing he had heard earlier returned, this time accompanied by a low, soft humming. Several times that night, Kylo jerked awake, terrified. He practically turned the room upside down, searching for the source of the noise, even going out into the hall to listen, but there was nothing but silence. Yet as soon as he fell back asleep, there it was again, more persistent each time. Sometimes it almost sounded like a song, as though somewhere nearby, a woman was murmuring a lullaby to herself. Other times, it sounded as if she were crying softly. No matter how often he woke and searched his rooms or the halls outside, though, he never found a thing.

 

* * *

 

 

               Arianne paced the room angrily, her robes swirling and pulling around her legs as she gnawed the side of her finger. “Kylo Ren is sleeping in the goddamn palace. How the hell are we supposed to convince him to leave without lowing up the entire planet?! What are we going to do?!”

               “We’re not going to panic,” suggested Cressida, fanning Letal, who had promptly fainted at General Organa’s shocking admission.

               “Too late!” declared her handmaiden, spinning on her heel to stalk across the room again.

               General Leia had signed off moments earlier with strict instructions to get Kylo off the planet as soon as possible. She would meet them on Naboo within a standard week, once she had finished some of the pressing business involved in trying to regroup the shattered New Republic. In the meantime, she would send a small squadron, to assist them in getting the Queen and the artifact to safety if things took a wrong turn.

               “If we start panicking, he’s going to get suspicious and figure out we’re on to him,” the queen insisted. “We need to stay calm and figure out how to keep him happy here until Leia arrives in a few days.”

               Arianne screeched to a halt abruptly and gaped. “That,” she began. “Is the _opposite_ of what she told you to do!”

               Cressida rolled her eyes. If she was overly reckless, Arianne was overly cautious. Between the two of them, things should have evened themselves out into something halfway reasonable, but due to the queen’s habit of doing exactly what she pleased regardless of Arianne’s aggressive warnings, they rarely did. “Do you really think we’ll be able to get him to leave without the journal?”

               “We give him something else and tell him it’s the artifact.”

               “He’s a Jedi, he’s not going to be fooled by that,” countered Cressida. “And if he finds out we’re trying to trick him, he’ll be angry. Our best bet is to stall him, keep him happy any way we can, and wait for the Resistance to arrive. Leia will know what to do.”

               “Sidi, do you really think she’ll make any difference?” asked Arianne weakly. “He killed his own father, what’s to stop him from finishing off the rest of the family tree?”

               “Between Naboo’s royal guard and the Resistance, we’ll at least have a chance. We’re in trouble no matter what we do, so we may as well maximize our chances,” the queen reasoned desperately. She laid Letal’s inert form gently on one side of the bed, giving up on reviving her for the time being. Arianne began skulking again, dragging her fingers through her long, copper hair.

               “I don’t suppose I can convince you to use a body double, for once?” she asked hopelessly. Cressida gave her a rueful smile and shrugged. She preferred to do things for herself whenever she could get away with it. Arianne just groaned. “Well, if he won’t be fooled by a fake artifact, I guess it’s pointless to try to fool him with a similar face, too…” she conceded sullenly. She pushed her palms against her eyes and shook her head. “I can’t fragging believe this…”

 

* * *

 

 

               Breakfast the next morning was a more lavish affair than usual, with plenty of fresh fruit, luxurious dishes, and abundant chilled blossom wine, golden and bubbling in slim glasses. Instead of the expansive, impersonal dining hall, the meal was held in the queen’s own parlor at a small round table next to a window hung with dainty lace curtains that overlooked the gleaming waters of Theed’s lake. Letal served the table efficiently while Arianne and the other handmaidens stood at the ready near the arched double doors, secretly armed with small daggers and blaster pistols. Arianne also had her favorite rifle strapped to her outer thigh beneath the wide yellow skirt of her morning gown, concealed by multiple alternating layers of sheer chersilk and gauzy chiffon.

               The Queen’s own sleeveless dress was a paler shade of yellow with a low, draped neckline, cinched at the waist and shoulders with shimmering gathered ribbon that mimicked the red-orange of the sunrise. Her hair had been left free to flow down her back, past her hips, the loose curls threaded through with ribbon.

               ‘Matt’ sat across from her in the same plain traveling clothes and a fresh bandage, dark eyes glued to the queen. It was impossible to tell whether her stared out of suspicion, or because her handmaidens had taken extra care to flatter her appearance. Again, they had forgone the heavy, traditional make up, instead accentuating her features with shimmering powder all over her face and shoulders so she practically glowed like the sun, and a dusting of pink rouge across her cheeks, eyelids, and lips. “He can’t just kill you if you’re this lovely,” Letal reasoned optimistically while Arianne rolled her eyes so hard they almost popped right out. “Even a monster must admire beauty…”

               Queen Amaranthe wasn’t certain about that, but at least the intruder seemed placated for now. The wine, which she continuously refilled herself, lent a rosy hue to his pale cheeks. As long as he was drunk and distracted, she felt sure she could handle him. She forced small talk for a while, asking how he slept, and if his rooms were satisfactory. He shuffled his feet under the table awkwardly before mumbling something ambiguous about the pillows. The dark circles under his eyes seemed deeper than they had last night.

               “Tell me,” she asked lightly, changing the subject. “what is it like being a Resistance fighter?” The question seemed to startle him, and as well it should, she thought.

               “I-it’s…” he cleared his throat loudly and collected himself. “Very…interesting. Dangerous.” His words were clipped, enunciated in his strange way.

               The queen smiled, passive-aggressively expectant. The two stared at each other down for a long, uncomfortable moment while she blinked charmingly at his sullen face. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Arianne giving her an open look of exasperated incredulity. The other girls exchanged uneasy looks. The silence dragged on, hanging so thick in the air, you could reach out and touch it; heavy, unpleasantly sticky. Amaranthe could just feel this ‘Matt’ willing her to look away, make a sound, drop her fork, anything. Finally, his eyes dropped to his plate, poking at a golden yellow fruit uncomfortably, lips pursed into a thin white line of poorly concealed rage.

               Doing an imaginary fist pump, the queen sat back, pleased with herself. “It must be such a rewarding experience, risking your life for the good of the Republic,” she mentioned, serenely breaking the silence. Arianne looked like she was ready to tear her hair out at her audacity. “You must be a very noble person to dedicate your life to protecting the peace of our galaxy—“           

               “Is the artifact prepared yet?” he interrupted sharply, slamming his fork down onto his plate. “I don’t have time to play these silly games you simpering aristocrats amuse yourself with.” It is vital that the General receives it as soon as possible.”

               “I’m sure it is,” she demurred, nonplused. Amaranthe shot Arianne a covert look as the handmaiden bristled visibly, looking as though she were half a second away from stomping over and beating the man over the head with a serving tray. “But I would hate for it to be damaged or compromised during transport, especially when we’re still in the process of backing up the information.” She reached a slim hand across the table, laying it gently atop Matt’s. His hand twitched noticeably, but he didn’t remove it. His eyes took on a strange, far off look, as though he were listening intently to some faint song only he could hear.

               A sudden commotion in the hall jerked them both back to reality. Lady Amaranthe turned toward the large double doors just in time to see the edge of Arianne’s skirts sweep angrily through them before they were snapped shut again and the disturbance ceased almost immediately.

               Plastering a perfect smile back on her face, the queen returned her attention back to her guest, who was shaking his head as if he had been woken from a dream. “So, tell me more about the Resistance,” she prodded with cruel interest, beckoning Letal over to refill her plate. Matt blanched noticeably at the request.

 

* * *

 

               “What the hell do you want!?” Arianne hissed at the self-important newcomer, clad in an orange flight suit, who appeared to be attempting to smooth-talk his way around the guards in their puce uniforms. He turned carnelian eyes toward her and flashed a grin that spelled trouble in all capital letters.

               “Finally, someone almost reasonable,” he gestured toward her and dodged around the guards, extending his arms to his sides emphatically.

               Arianne side-stepped skillfully, arms crossed sternly over her chest, fixing him with a foreboding glare. The pilot pursed his lips in amusement. “We already have ONE suspicious character here, thank you very much,” she snapped, eyeing him with a severe emerald gaze.

               The man drew close, and her spine stiffened. “I’m aware of your unexpected guest,” he intoned quietly. “I came here at the request of a _mutual friend_ to keep an eye on things.” He jerked his chin over his shoulder at the guards. “These guys wouldn’t believe me when I said I had an urgent need for an audience the queen and her ladies, can you believe that? With this face?”

               “Yes,” she responded flatly. “I can. The queen is occupied, come back later.”

               “Actually, it’s you I was hoping to see,” the man grinned, lowering his voice. “See, General Organa wanted this to be an undercover job…problem is, the guy knows me,” he admitted sheepishly, with a rough bite to his voice. “Kind of intimately.” Ari’s eyebrows shot up so far they threatened to jump off her face. “Either I pretend not to know him and hope for the best, or I need a position out of the way, but close enough to the Queen to keep her safe.”

               “I don’t have time for this,” Ari muttered, shaking her head. “You’re just going to have to stay out of sight. I’ve got a stupidly reckless queen to deal with, I don’t have time to hold your hand because you were cocky enough to volunteer for a covert op where you knew you could be easily recognized!”

               The man smiled disarmingly. “Volunteer is such a strong word…”

Arianne’s eyes sharped. “And what would be a more accurate term?” she asked through clenched teeth.

“’Took off without clearance’?”

The handmaiden valiantly resisted the urge to slap her forehead…or him. “Not another one…” she griped under her breath, thinking of her best friend’s escapades. “Alright, I have an idea. It’s not going to be flattering, but you can take it or else turn around and get the hell off my planet,” she decided abruptly. She nodded to the guards, giving them a meaningful look. They grinned in response. “Take him to be outfitted. And Poe,” she amended as she turned to go back to the parlor. He smiled again, a pleased little smirk.

“Surprised you remembered,” he commented with amusement.

“Don’t fuck this up,” she growled, spinning on her heel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun times coming in chapter three~!  
> Please feel free to comment with any constructive criticism.  
> Hope you enjoyed!

**Author's Note:**

> Constructive criticism is always welcome, so please feel free to comment!  
> Hope you enjoyed.  
> -Fataleity


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